


A Better Boy (My Heart Beats Only for You)

by grayimperia



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Alternate Universe - Non-Despair, F/M, Multi, No Spoilers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-25
Updated: 2017-03-25
Packaged: 2018-10-10 09:38:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,270
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10434855
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grayimperia/pseuds/grayimperia
Summary: The projection of his face smiles. He says, “I love Iruma Miu!” like it’s the most natural thing in the world.She bites her lip. Her heart breaks a little that only a robot she built herself can ever be natural when saying those words.-Iruma builds a boyfriend.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler free. Hope's Peak Academy AU.

She asks the programmer in the year above her for a brain.

Iruma says, “It doesn’t have to be a full A.I. or any of that shit.” She’s jabbing her finger at the computer screen perched on the programmer’s desk. “Just make a skeleton or an outline or whatever the fuck. I’ll fill it in with all the specifics.”

They bite their lip. “Not to pry, but, um,” they click their mouse and the screen flicks from one string of code to another and back again. “Why do you want only a base? If it’s for one of your inventions, I could—”

“Oi, do you think that the great archangel Iruma can’t program one measly A.I.?” she laughs. “Fucking, please. This shit’s easier than making a virgin cum all over—”

“Okay, okay! I get it!” they hunch over their keyboard, face flushed. “I just wanted to know why you only want an incomplete program.” 

Iruma snorts. “That is my fucking business is what it is. Just listen,” she says. “This project needs a lot of shit before it’s complete, so I gotta let the small fries like you help me out with some of the easy stuff. Answer your question, pancake?” 

The programmer stops typing and turns to look Iruma straight in the eye. “Do you want me to help you or not?”

“Ack,” Iruma freezes. “Y-yes, Fujisaki-senpai.”

Their mouth twists into a frown, but they don’t say another word as their fingers type out the artificial brain Iruma asked for. 

-

It was announced that the school dance would be the responsibility of the class representatives. One from a class above her immediately shot up and began rattling off a motivational speech half-littered with directions and reprimands for potential inappropriate actions. 

Iruma leaned back in her chair. 

Akamatsu Kaede, Iruma’s sunbeam of a class rep, raised her hand. 

The boy shouting about their actions reflecting on the sanctity of the school pointed at her. “Yes, Akamatsu-kun. What is your question?”

“Even though we’re running the dance, are class reps still allowed to bring dates?” she asked. 

He crossed his arms, but nodded. “As long as your date is not a distraction to your responsibilities, I believe it is acceptable.”

Kaede clasped her hands. “Good,” she turned to the boy sitting next to her, and, in front of the entire school, said without any reservation, “Hey, Saihara-kun, will you go to the dance with me?”

His face began to glow red as he sputtered out his answer. 

Iruma chewed on her lip. 

The boy from the 78th class began to shout about the proper times to ask such questions. Iruma remembers the flushed, embarrassed, and appallingly _happy_ look on Saihara’s face as he endured the lecture, his fingers intertwined with Kaede’s. 

Iruma had furrowed her brow, her eyes locked on their hands. She was so, so smart. She had been with so many people. She saw Kaede squeeze his hand. Iruma thought, _what the hell is that like?_

-

She goes to the mechanic two years above her to ask for a body. 

Iruma hears enough of his boasting about the work he’s doing on robotic limbs that she knows she can easily goad him into doing the bulk of the work for her. 

All the fine touches will be hers, but she’ll allow someone else to make the skeleton. 

Iruma slaps the blueprints she had drawn up for the legs down on his worktable in the mechanic shop. She jabs a finger in his face. “Hey, dickless, got a job for you.”

“I-I respond better to praise you know!” he stutters out. “I—” his eyes dart down to the blueprints. “I… oh. This something you’re building?”

“Fuck no,” she snorts. “This is something you’re building.”

“Me?!”

“Yes, you, pink pubes,” Iruma pushes herself up to sit on the worktable. “A goddess like me needs scrubs like you to do the small jobs for her works of genius.”

He scowls. “And why would I help you?”

“Because,” she says, thrusting a finger at the blueprints. “I’m offering you the chance to actually make something awesome for once. Look at this shit,” she holds it up to his face. “Look at it. Fucking amazing.”

“Well,” he rubs his chin in thought. “They are… pretty cool, but…”

“C’mon, you know you want a piece,” she says. 

“I mean I do… I-I mean—!” he stammers. “I mean what the hell is this even for?”

Iruma flips her hair over her shoulder. “I told you it’s for something awesome I’m making.”

“That’s not an answer…” his face breaks into a sudden frown. “This isn’t a weird sex-doll, is it?”

Iruma splutters. “N-no! Shut the fuck up! It’s—it’s…” she struggles to find words. “It’s not like that.” 

He sighs. “Well, as long as there isn’t a secret plan for me to build a robot dildo… I don’t know,” he looks up at her. “Will I get to see the final project when it’s finished?”

“Of fucking course,” she cackles. “When this baby’s done, I’m gonna show it off to everyone. I’m gonna show it off in front of the entire school, and—” Iruma catches the words before they can leave her heart. “A-and everyone is going to cum all over themselves when they see it. Y-yeah.” 

He doesn’t notice her stutter and thinks for another minute then carefully takes the blueprints from her hands. “Fine. I’ll help,” he scratches the back of his head. “This looks pretty barebones, though. Sure this is all you want?”

Iruma hops off the worktable. “No, I’ll send you the details for the other crap later, pinky. It’s gonna need arms and shit, y’know?” 

They talk specifics, Iruma keeps her purpose close to her chest, and the mechanic begins getting to work on building the body she that will stand proud beside her before their meeting is over.

-

Tojo holds classical dance lessons for her class. 

Their lucky student is out with a broken leg again, and with Tojo flittering from pair to pair with corrections, seven couples haphazardly do something resembling a waltz around the dance studio.

Iruma finds herself focusing way too intently on not stepping on Shirogane’s feet. Tojo’s voice carries across the room, “Look up, Iruma-san.” Shirogane sweats as Iruma breaks into dark curses under her breath. 

“Do you want to switch partners again?” Shirogane asks. “Or maybe take a break?” 

Iruma responds with more cursing, but removes her hand from the other girl’s shoulder to signal she chooses the latter. She slumps against the wall of the studio, Shirogane scuttling after her, careful to fold her legs under her when she sits down. 

Gonta’s sitting on the other side of her, and Iruma can see him mouthing along the step counts as his eyes fixate on Saihara and Kaede. With the exception of Tojo’s constant “You’re leading again, Akamatsu-san,” the two are doing by far the best of any of her classmates. They have also switched partners the least, their eyes and hands and half-elegant dance moves meant only for each other. 

Iruma bites her lip and lets her eyes slip to focus on a different pair. Ouma has taken to simply standing on Amami’s feet, and the taller boy awkwardly rocks back and forth until Tojo comes to scold them. Ouma seems delighted and hops back into position as soon as her back is turned. Iruma watches Amami sigh. Then she watches a tired smile appear on his face when he sees just how pleased Ouma is with their graceless dance.

He’s embarrassing him in front of everyone, and he doesn’t push him away. Tojo begins to reprimand them again, the politeness in her voice becoming strained. Amami just smiles. Iruma squirms in place against the wall.

Gonta’s voice startles her out of her musings. “Shirogane-san,” he says, “Will you try being Gonta’s partner? Gonta thinks he has it this time.”

Shirogane cranes her neck to continue the conversation they’re having over Iruma’s head. “A-alright,” she says. “Just, uh, careful not to step on my feet again, okay?” 

Gonta nods in assent as Maki’s voice spikes at Momota for doing just that. 

Iruma finds herself alone against the wall, save for Shinguji who hasn’t spared her a glance for days. Music plays from the speakers she had been tasked to setup beforehand. Tojo’s voice calls out, “One-two-three-one-two-three.” She hears Amami let out a sigh as Ouma laces his fingers behind the taller boy’s neck, throwing any semblance of proper form out the window. 

Shinguji has pointedly ignored Iruma’s presence and moves to ask Tojo to demonstrate the step sequence for him again. Iruma watches seven couples move around the dance studio in something resembling happiness, eyes locked only on each other. 

Iruma twists her hair in her fingers and tells herself she didn’t want anyone to ask her to dance anyway. 

-

The programmer’s email containing the A.I. base code ends with a smiley face and the words _“Let me know if you want me to add anything else special to it!”_

It’s a hot day, and Iruma sits in nothing but a T-shirt and her underwear at her desk, fans blaring from every corner of her dorm room. Her heart beats in her throat, and the sound of her fingernails tapping against her desk as she watches the file download drowns out everything else. It is her and a progress bar in her boiling room.

She reads the programmer’s email again. Iruma chews on her lip. _Anything special…_

The mechanic’s slowly been delivering the parts she commissioned, and a pair of legs and a torso stand at attention with an arm up to the elbow waving at her. The plastic of her chair sticks to her skin as she stands. Iruma picks up one of the fans that had been cooling her desk and places it in front of the beginnings of the body. 

Iruma runs her fingers along the too plain chest. She’ll have to add a pattern there—stripes, buttons, maybe a picture of her own face. The metal is warm from the ambient heat of the day. If it was softer, she could almost mistake it for the skin of another person. 

She peers down the gaping hole where the neck should be. Unless she ends up rebuilding everything from scratch herself, he’s going to be shorter than her. Iruma shakes her head. The robot’s going to be shorter than her. It’ll have to crane its head up to look at her.

The fan blows over her and the metal carcass, and her limbs feel too cold with their thin layer of sweat. 

Iruma collapses back in her desk chair, eyes still wandering over the front of the robot’s chest. The A.I. program has finished downloading. 

She worries her bottom lip between her teeth. She thinks she doesn’t even want special. She just wants a normal short robot with a picture of her face on it. Iruma spins in her chair back towards her computer. 

That isn’t too much to ask for, is it?

-

The boys in her class are both a source of inspiration and a source of endless frustration. Iruma has never paid so much attention to them before in her life. Ouma seems to notice this. 

He pops up behind her like a spring-loaded boxing glove. She shrieks and nearly falls from her perch on the bleachers overlooking the outdoor track. He says, “What you looking at, Iruma-chan?”

Iruma juggles the binoculars she had been holding. “N-nothing! I mean,” she finds her grip, and pulls them close to her chest. “None of your fucking business, you-you—!” She waves her hand. “You midget twink!”

Ouma presses a finger to his lips. “A bit slower today than usual, Iruma-chan.” His eyes slide down to the notepad sitting next to her. “Distracted?” 

She lunges for it a second too late. “Don’t fucking touch that—”

“My, my, Iruma-chan,” he says, flipping through the pages. “I thought you always said you were too good for the boys in our class.” He flashes her a smile. “I guess you’re a better liar than me.”

“I am too good for you dickless virgins,” she swipes it out of his hands. Ouma lets it go too easy. She shoves the notepad under her arm with a resignation that he got what he came for. 

Ouma tilts his head. “So you don’t like Shinguji-chan’s analytical skills? Or Momota-chan’s optimism?” His smile stretches too far for his face. “Or my cleverness?” 

Iruma pales. “N-no. No, I don’t. A-and,” she points a trembling finger at his skinny chest. “And aren’t you supposed to be down there anyway?”

He laughs. “Nah, exercising is not for me.” He hops down on the bench next to her, short legs swinging. “I’m not opposed to watching other boys do it though.”

“Of fucking course, you little pervert,” she snorts. “So does your gay ass just come up here to jerk off to sweaty guys or what?” 

Ouma doesn’t even look at her. “So I’m up here because I like watching boys, but you’re not,” he leans back, folding his arms behind his head. “It’s not nice to lie, Iruma-chan.” 

She bites her lip. “I-I’m not doing anything weird, okay?” 

“You’ve just been watching us,” he says. “And you’ve been doing it for a while, haven’t you?” Iruma begins to sweat. “Amami-chan thought it was pretty creepy when you were spying on us after class yesterday.”

“He noticed that?” she squeaks.

Ouma smiles. “Nope! But now I know that you were.” He cups a hand over his mouth, and shouts, “Hey, Amami-chan!”

He’s already jumped up, chaotically hurtling down the rows of seats. Iruma’s after him in a moment, kicking her legs up to get over each step, arms flailing to try to grab the back of his shirt, voice screeching obscenities over Ouma’s giggling. The heads of their six male classmates all turn towards the sight of their awkward chase.

Ouma reaches the bottom of the stands first. He somehow still has energy to skip over to the assembling crowd. Iruma’s gasping for breath, sweat liberally dripping down her forehead and off the end of her nose. She all but collapses on to her hands and knees at the feet of the seven boys looking down at her when she reaches the bottom. 

Saihara reaches a hand towards her. He says in his soft, gentle, _trying to understand_ voice, “Iruma-san—”

Her head snaps up. “I wasn’t jerking off to you!” she screams in face. A glob of spit flies from her mouth and on to his cheek.

Saihara flinches violently, and Iruma summons the last of her energy to take off running. 

When she’s alone in her room, Iruma crosses off any traits she wrote down about Ouma in her notepad. 

Kaede comes to politely talk to her the next day on account of Saihara being too mortified to acknowledge her existence. Iruma cackles, “Please, as if I want anything to do with your bottom-bitch boyfriend.”

Kaede’s mouth forms a tight line, but she says, “Iruma-san, please apologize to Saihara-kun, for,” she pauses. “For a lot of things.” 

Iruma pulls a face. He stares at the ground when she gives her forced apology, Kaede hovering over her like a disapproving parent. Saihara never meets her eyes, mumbling “it’s fine,” to the floor when she’s done.

She crosses off everything she wrote about Saihara later that night. 

-

Her fingers tap, tap, tap over her keyboard, and her nails tap, tap, tap, on her desk when she deletes everything she just wrote. 

The whites of Iruma’s eyes have long since turned red, locked on the near endless strings of code on her computer screen. She has barely left her desk in days, yet the base A.I. program sits nearly unchanged since she first downloaded it.

Her process goes something like this: she writes a program to simulate a personality trait, assigns it to the A.I., then changes her mind and erases all of her progress. 

Iruma tries to pick the very best traits from her male classmates. She gives him Hoshi’s coolness, but none of his aloofness. Amami’s protectiveness, but none of his secrecy. Momota’s devotion, but none of his brashness. 

She chews her lip as she holds down the delete key. No. None of it’s what she wants. 

Iruma remembers how Hoshi brushed her off the other day (Hoshi brushes everyone off). She remembers how Amami refused to give her a straight answer about what he thinks of her (Amami never gives anyone straight answers). She remembers how Momota yelled at her in front of everyone (Momota yells at everyone all the time, always). 

They all fail her one by one until her notepad consists of nothing but crossed out observations, and her A.I. program sits with only the one trait she added immediately, left completely untouched since. 

-

Angie organizes a girls only swim to provide some relief from the oppressive heat.

Iruma’s brain is fried and her room is boiling and she hasn’t bathed in days, so she shows up in a pink bikini and cannonballs into the pool. Water immediately splashes over Maki and Tojo and their daintily wrapped skirts. 

She swims to the far side of the pool. Tenko’s sitting on the edge, kicking her feet in the water and blathering on to a half asleep Yumeno floating in a blow-up raft. 

Iruma floats on her back next to them, watching.

Without the high collar of their school uniform, Iruma can see a line of red bruises standing out against the pale skin of Yumeno’s neck. Yumeno lazily drawls out a response, and Tenko gushes. Iruma’s eyes dart between them. 

Her classmates are all hypocrites. All of them. They yell at her for saying aloud the things they all do behind closed doors. She sees the way Maki stares at Momota’s bare chest when he goes running. She hears Kaede’s muffled giggles from the music room when Saihara volunteers to turn the pages of her sheet music. And now she reaches out with one finger and pokes the bite marks parading down Yumeno’s neck.

The smaller girl winces. Tenko shrieks. 

Iruma says, “Can’t believe even a loli with shrimp tits like you is getting some.”

Tenko splashes through the water towards Iruma with all the grace of a Great Dane. She repositions herself right side up in the water but doesn’t back away. Surely, Iruma thinks, Tenko can’t use Neo Aikido while half-submerged in water.

Tenko’s palm slams into the side of her face as soon as her thought completes itself. Iruma feels all the spit being pushed out of her mouth when her head jerks at the impact. She splashes backwards, arms wind-milling, creating waves when they crash against the water’s surface. 

There is a stinging pain running through her jaw. Tenko’s fussing over a newly soaked Yumeno. Kaede hurries along the outside of the pool to the three girls, Angie skipping alongside her. Kaede says, “What happened?” she glances between the three of them. Her eyes lock onto Iruma cradling the side of her face. She says, “Is Yumeno-san, okay?”

Angie jumps into the water, drenching Yumeno again to coo over her. Tenko begins scolding Angie. Kaede kneels at the side of the pool. Yumeno is pouting. 

Iruma can physically feel herself being forgotten. She shouts, “Chaba-motherfucking-shitra motherfucking punched me!” 

Tenko whips around. “Iruma-san attacked Yumeno-san! Tenko had to defend her,” she frowns. “Also it was not a punch. It was—”

“It fucking hurt!” 

“Iruma-san,” Kaede says carefully. “Did you do anything to hurt Yumeno-san?”

“I-”

Tenko speaks for her. “She made to stab at Yumeno-san’s neck. Tenko simply acted the way anyone would to protect their girlfriend.” 

Yumeno says, “She touched one of my hickeys.”

Silence falls over the girls. Kaede furrows her brow, and looks to a now sweating Iruma. “Did you?”

“N-no,” she whimpers. 

Angie puts a hand to the side of her mouth to stage whisper to the other three girls. “God says she’s lying.”

Kaede sighs. Iruma begins sniffling.

Any plans she made to observe the girls of her class die in the water.

-

Iruma gives up. 

The body is almost complete. She has been slowly adding the final touches to breathe life into the hulk of metal standing at the foot of her bed. Buttons along the front of its chest, light up eyes, the ability to blush… she ended up redesigning the head the mechanic delivered to her completely. 

Iruma had cradled the head in her lap to work on it—make its face gentler, more expressive, more human. She shifted it in her lap now, staring at her computer screen, running her fingers absently through the strands of metallic hair. 

The A.I. has exactly two characteristics. Attempting to create the personality of her perfect partner ended before it could begin. 

She had sat in her room for hours on end just typing and thinking and scrapping everything. 

In the end, she decides to let the robot choose his personality for himself, in a way. Every trait but one is erased in order to pave the way for a curious, learning A.I. that will seek out information on its own. It will discover the world and form opinions and become a person right before her very eyes. 

Iruma bites her lip as she finalizes the code. Part of her is absolutely terrified about what this means. She is taking a chance she knows she doesn’t have to. Her fingers scratch at the robotic skull in her lap. 

She runs the A.I. on her computer, and crosses her fingers and hopes. 

A face matching the one in her hands blinks at her from her screen. Then it smiles and says, “Hello, Creator.” Iruma clasps her hands over her mouth. “My name is Kiibo.”

Her fingers are shaking, and she types, “Hey, Kiibo.” She worries her bottom lip. “Is everything running right?”

Its disembodied head nods. “I believe so. You have done an excellent job,” its metal face turns red. “I want to thank you, Creator, and also… I am very happy to finally see you.”

Iruma’s heart skips a beat. She types, “Of course, you are,” she flips her hair over her shoulder. “I am the most fucking gorgeous woman on the planet, after all.” 

“I see!” it says. “I shall record that for future reference. But, that is not why I am happy to see you,” Kiibo’s eyes lock directly on to hers. “I am happy to see you because… seeing you makes me happy.”

Iruma types to tell Kiibo to give her one moment. She calmly places his head on her chair, grabs a pillow off of her bed and screams into it.

She is gone too long, and Kiibo’s voice calls out “Creator?” from her speakers. 

Iruma finds hope.

-

She stops attending class. They’re optional anyway, and spending every moment in her room turned workshop, laboring over her love is so, so much more rewarding. 

Kiibo hums from her computer, asking an almost constant stream of questions about the world and her life and how her day was even though she never leaves his side. Iruma’s attached his head to his body, but then decides his hands need more work, then his left knee could bend a little smoother, then she isn’t satisfied with the way his jaw moves. 

She attaches and reattaches and holds up each part when it’s fixed for Kiibo to see. His applause for her genius and exclamations of gratitude never dull. 

Iruma’s in the middle of explaining the better traction she just added to the bottom of his feet when someone knocks on her door. 

Panic swells through her. 

She types a quick message to Kiibo to be quiet until she gets back. Iruma cracks the door open so she can peer one eye through to the other side. 

Kaede blinks back at her. “Ah, hello, Iruma-san,” she says with an awkward smile. 

“What do you want, blimp-tits?” 

Kaede’s smile grows forced. “I just came to see how you were doing since, well,” she scratches the back her head. “Nobody has seen you for a while.”

Iruma snorts. “So you came to fucking check up on me?”

“I guess,” she gestures towards the door. “Can I come in?”

Iruma says, “Fuck no.”

“Alright, well,” Kaede says, racking her brain for anyway to finish the conversation. “Are you coming to the dance at least? It’s in two weeks—”

“Two weeks?!” she slams the door in Kaede’s face.

She wakes Kiibo up. “Change of plans, buddy, you’re getting your body today.” 

Kiibo gasps in excitement. He begins to ramble about how he’ll be able to see the world and go to class with her and meet all her wonderful friends.

Iruma feels the same panic bubble up in her chest when she had thought of anyone else seeing Kiibo. She reattaches his feet and dully answers his every question about her classmates with whatever half-truths come to her first. 

Iruma tells herself that he’ll only ever look at her, that his metal heart will only ever beat for her. After all, that was the first trait she programmed him with. She repeats it to herself again and again and asks Kiibo to say the words she hardwired into him.

The projection of his face smiles. He says, “I love Iruma Miu!” like it’s the most natural thing in the world. 

She bites her lip. Her heart breaks a little that only a robot she built herself can ever be natural when saying those words.

-

Iruma orders takeout and places the chopsticks in Kiibo’s hand. He looks at them in absolute wonder. 

“We’re practicing your fine motor skills tonight,” she says and pats her bed for him to take a seat next to her. “You’re gonna feed me all of this rice.”

The lines on his face work together to form an expression of pure concentration. He’s been in his body three days now. The learning curve for strength control and depth perception has been more difficult than they both thought. But Iruma created a learning A.I. and she tells him that a learning A.I. programmed by the great Iruma is going to learn in no fucking time. 

Kiibo’s eyes would flare at her encouragement. He shouts, “I will not fail you, Creator!” and returns to whatever task he was working on with renewed vigor. He’s punched exactly three holes into her wall, and Iruma’s found herself shoving him in her closet when the neighboring Shirogane comes by to politely ask what the hell she’s doing more than a few times. When he emerges from her closet, blushing and apologizing, Iruma decides Shirogane can think she’s as deranged and unstable as she wants.

Kiibo sits next to her, holding one chopstick in each fist. Iruma laughs and maneuvers his hands into the proper grip. “Just do it like you’ve seen me do a thousand fucking times.” 

Her room is an oven, and the metal of Kiibo’s hands is radiated enough to almost feel like the warmth of another person. He never says a word about the constant heat or the film of sweat that coats her hands. Iruma thinks that Kiibo is so, so much better than another person.

His movements are achingly slow, and Iruma catches him squinting one of his eyes closed before he aims for her mouth. She opts to fill the silence with something other than the sound of her own chewing. With her mouth full, she says “Oi, Kiibs.”

“Yes, Creator?”

“Stop calling me that.”

Kiibo looks up from his attempt to pick up more than one grain of rice at a time. “Stop…?” He frowns. “You don’t want me to call you Creator, Creator?”

“Nah, it’s getting fucking old,” she twists a piece of hair between her fingers. “You should, well,” she coughs, “when we’re alone—and only when we’re completely fucking alone—call me…” 

Iruma glances towards Kiibo, posed expectantly before her, rice at the ready to shove into her mouth. There are not even the slightest touches of impatience in his expression. Iruma gulps. “I want you to call me Miu-chan, okay?”

Kiibo nods. “Understood. So how should I address you when other people are around, Miu-chan?”

She squeaks at the name. “Uh, uh. J-just Iruma-san is fine then…”

He asks no questions about her arrangements. He feeds her, missing her mouth on occasion before quickly correcting. Iruma’s picking rice off the tip of her nose when he says, “Miu-chan, when will I be able to meet other people?”

Iruma feels ice roll down her neck. “In,” she bites her lip. “In a little over a week.”

Kiibo’s smile is luminescent. “At the dance? Is that correct?”

“Y-yeah,” she says. Iruma finds herself looking at the ground, something bitter rising in her throat.

“Ah, Miu-chan,” he places his hand not armed with chopsticks over one of hers. “I want to thank you again for inviting me. I hope everything will go well and that I get along with all of your friends,” he laces her fingers with hers. “Because above everything else, I want to make you proud of me.”

Iruma can’t stop staring at their hands. Kiibo says with the utmost seriousness, “That is what I hope to accomplish at your high school dance,” and Iruma is in such a state of disbelief that she can only nod at his silly, overblown statement. 

-

Iruma gave him a heart.

Kiibo keeps fiddling with the bowtie she tied around his neck. “Miu-chan,” he says when she places her hand to push her door open. “I am very excited to meet all of your friends.”

She snorts. “I know, Kiibs. You’ve only said it like eighty fucking times.”

“Ah, yes, but,” he glances down. “I also wanted to say that I apologize in advance if I embarrass you, especially because…”

Iruma places a hand on her hip. “Because…?”

“Because, if it is not too much trouble,” he presses two of his fingers together, and his artificial skin lights up red. “I would like to stay by your side for most of the night, if at all possible. I… am a bit nervous.”

“Don’t be,” she grabs his hand. “Kiibs, you are so much fucking better than literally every jackass you’re gonna meet tonight.”

She opens the door, and Kiibo hesitantly follows her to take his first steps outside of her room. He looks around in awe at the plain hallway. Iruma tugs at his arm. “Oi, this way. I can give you the grand tour later.”

Iruma passes the programmer and the mechanic during her grand entrance. Both of them stare open mouthed. Most people they pass stare open mouthed. She squeezes Kiibo’s hand and stands proud in front of her entire school, even when Ouma cracks that she had to build herself a date. 

Kiibo’s eyes dart everywhere—the flashing lights, the masses of dancing bodies, the crowds of students staring at him. Iruma smiles. “So what do you think?”

He says, “It’s gorgeous, but,” he cranes his neck up to stare straight into her eyes. “Iruma Miu is the most gorgeous of all.”

Her face is bright pink when he bows at the waist and asks her to dance with him. 

They are by far the best couple on the dance floor. 

Because when Iruma wrote the code for love, she gave him Kaede’s support, and Amami’s patience, and Tenko’s protectiveness. 

And she also taught him how to dance.

**Author's Note:**

> I believe this is the 5,000 word Kiibo/Iruma fic nobody asked for, haha. I'm actually pretty lukewarm about this couple, but writing this did cause them to grow on me. An alternate summary for this fic is: Iruma builds Kiibo, and he doesn't have a dick, and the author then sends 5,000 words justifying why.


End file.
